When All Was Right With the Warrior
by Highfunctioning Hufflepuff
Summary: Gimli ponders the true breaking of the fellowship, the end of the War of the Ring and what it means for him. Introspective and angsty. GxL implications.


What can you do when all the battles that need fighting have been fought, all the forfeits that need winning are won, and all the words that need to be said have been spoken? What can you do when the strangers that became friends become strangers again, forsaking this land, and you, to sail across the sea? What can you do when the remnants of fellowship die?

Does the warrior lie down his ax and cease to exist? Disappearing into memories of the past battles and forfeits, longing for _his _days? The days when, though the world was ravaged by darkness and war, all was right with the warrior, because in this he had purpose.

Does the heart cease to beat in the chest of said warrior? Because though he spoke all the words that needed to be said, words were not enough to bind to him the one he longed for. Words were fleeting, flimsy things that could do nothing to counteract the distance between two straining races. Nothing to counteract the distance of the sea.

Does the spirit of the warrior die slowly, crushed beneath the ache felt only by the lovelorn? With nothing for comfort or company but memories of shining eyes and golden hair, nothing but half-remembered songs whispered to him at night by his pining heart in a yearned for elvish tongue, does the warrior die for his yearning?

Does the warrior forget the faces of the comrades he fought beside before the fellowship fell away? Does he forget what it felt like to be vital to another's survival? Does he forget what it meant to belong? Does he forget the partnership of the elf?

These were the things Gimli asked himself as the minutes crawled by to make themselves hours and the hours to make themselves days, each one paramounting closer and closer to the end of his existence, or to the beginning of his madness. Which one? It didn't matter. They both meant the same thing. No more pain. No more hopeless longing. What point was there in asking these questions when they only caused him grief? Was the truth to be discovered worth the constant heartache?

More time passed, long and hard and full of hopeless queries. But truth was discovered, eventually, and while it took none of the pain away, Gimli was happier for it.

Yes, the warrior had lain aside his ax, but he was no less real, no less a warrior for it.

No, Words had not bound Legolas to him, and though his heart ached because of it, it would continue to beat. Because Legolas was beautiful, and Legolas was free. A creature borne of the sun and the wind. To bind him to anything would be a sin beyond all forgiveness.

The warrior's spirit would not die, no matter the pressure of the pain. Because Gimli had just that: the spirit of a warrior, which meant he had the strength to endure. If all he ever had for comfort was the knowledge that somewhere, across the deep, dark sea Legolas was living happily amongst his people, then all would be well with Gimli, and memories of shining eyes and a lilting voice singing, always singing, in little snatches of Sindarin, would be more than enough company. They were a greater gift than he had ever anticipated receiving.

And if all of this was true, then Gimli would certainly never forget. Not the faces, not the feelings, not the fellowship. He would never forget guarding another's life, and he would _never _forget his partnership with an elf.

Memories would just have to be enough. Enough to keep him content until his time came once again. And it would come again, because though the largest threat had been removed, the world could not forever remain peaceful. The nature of man would not allow such a thing. And when conflict gripped the land once more, Gimli would be on the front line, filled with the purpose and determination that came to him only through defending what was his.

Satisfied with this knowledge, a slow smile crept over Gimli's face. He would be alright.

Happiness was not an option in the waking present, so he let his soul to slip down into the cool, reminiscent waters of the dreaming past. Waiting, biding his time by allowing himself to be transported back to a time when all was right with the warrior.


End file.
